Secrets
by xForeversEndx
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a secret. When this secret is discovered, it will change his life forever. WARNING: Eating disorder and Trigger content. Consider this a reboot of my earlier work Secrets of Perfection. Potential Lemons
1. Chapter 1

I check the bathroom for any other occupants and then lock the stall door behind me. I curse the school staff for making the bathroom doors immune to locking charms. They do it so students won't have sex in here. I need them locked for another reason. I let my bag slide to floor and roll up my sleeves.

I've been doing this for well over a year and I still haven't mastered the appropriate charm and so I'm forced to do so by hand. I kneel down in front of the toilet and shove my first two fingers down my throat. I retch, violently, and everything I ate today and most of yesterday presents itself for a second time. I repeat this again, and as the contents of my stomach spill into the toilet bowl, I hear the bathroom door open behind me. I sigh, and spit into the bowl. I stare at my own sick for a moment, waiting for my stomach to settle.

My bathroom companion takes a piss and flushes the toilet in the stall beside me. I flush, wiping my mouth with a piece of tissue and sliding my sleeves down before unlocking the door. I groan as I see who it is that joined me in my private moment. I approach the sink beside Potter and begin washing the vomit off my hand. The flesh on my fingers sting with the contact, but at least they aren't bleeding today.

After I wash my hands I pull my toothbrush out of my bag. Irritatingly, I notice that Potter is looking at me funny.

"What the bloody hell are you staring at?" I snap, holding the brush beneath the water.

"Are you alright, Malfoy?" He asks, slowly. I stare at him for a moment and then I look away.

"Don't eat the shellfish." I mumble. He raises his eyebrows at me as I spread toothpaste on the brush.

"Oh is that what's wrong with you?" He asks. I ignore him and start brushing my teeth, eager to rid myself of the taste of vomit. There's a lot of things wrong with me, and he doesn't need to know a single one of them. I spit, and start to rinse my mouth out with water. Potter stands beside me, calculating every move I make. "So, uh," he says, trying and failing at sounding casual. "Why do you carry a toothbrush with you?" Getting annoyed, I spin around to look at him.

"Since when are my personal hygiene habits so important to you, Potter?" He's quiet for a moment.

"You know," he starts slowly. "This is the third time this week I've heard someone vomiting in here." I stop and close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and counting to 3 before I respond. I'm sure to leave my tone monotonous, and uncaring, despite inwardly panicking.

"You must be psychic." I mumble, pushing past him. He starts to say something else but I leave without giving him the chance. Looking around to make sure I'm not being followed, I pick up speed on my way back to my dorm. The encounter has me shaken.

Potter knows. He has to know.

I reach the dungeons and lock myself in my four-poster.

It was only a matter of time, I figure, as I pull my journal from my bedside table. I've been at this for a year and a half, maybe more. I've been walked in on before. No one has ever said a thing, though. So either no one cares, or no one has paid enough attention to the sounds of my retching to figure out that something's wrong. Or, I consider as I yank up my sleeves and examine the cuts on my wrists, no one even notices that I exist. Honestly, I'd rather the second, despite a large part of me knowing almost as fact that it really is the last.

So Potter knows. How bad can that be? Hell, I can probably even convince him that he's wrong. That wouldn't be so hard, right? Just keep on acting like he's crazy, and eventually, he'll start believing it himself. Just because he heard me throwing up doesn't mean he can prove that it was me.

Despite these reassurances, I'm unable to rid myself of the pesky butterflies, fluttering in my stomach and making it impossible for me to sit still. I pull my knees to my chest for a moment, but this doesn't work, and I eventually give in and pull the razorblade from beneath my pillow.

This one isn't the only one I have. I have them hidden everywhere. In my Quidditch locker, in some of my textbooks, taped to the inside of my journal, and I carry one in my robe pocket, in the off chance that I'll need one during class and I can't take my bag with me. So during times like this, when the anxiety takes hold or for some reason I find it hard to cope, it's never a struggle to find what I need.

I waste no time in applying 6 fresh slices to my left wrist, and watch carefully as each one beads up with blood, one after the next, slowly starting to drip across the scars and to the crevice of my elbow. The sting hits me a moment later, and I feel the anxiety begin to fade. I'll be okay. I will, really. It doesn't matter what Potter knows. I open up my journal – a muggle notebook – and pull my standard ball-point pen from the spiral.

_21 September, 1996_

_So I think that Potter is on to me. He sort of cornered me in the washroom after lunch today, and that's why I'm here right now instead of in History like I'm supposed to be. That's okay, though, really, because no matter what he suspects I might be doing, he has no way to prove it, and he wouldn't have to guts to tell on me. _

_I don't see why he cares, anyhow, and with the way he was looking at me I can imagine that I'm really more of a puzzle than a person to him. He doesn't care, care. He's just wants to sort me out. Maybe it's his hero complex. Maybe he thinks it's funny. It doesn't matter to me because I don't care what Potter has to say. I don't. _

_Anyway, instead of going to History, I'm upstairs with my curtains drawn and I've just cut myself again. It's a wonderful way to start off a week, don't you think? All joking aside, I think I'm starting to fail some of my classes and I really wish that I could make myself care more than I do. And yet, I don't, and I can't see myself caring any time soon. I have to face that truth that I'm probably not even going to make it until graduation, anyway. So tell me, what's point? _

_What's the point of any of it? I'm lying, always, every time I even step outside these curtains. There's not a single person out there who knows or would even care to know what's wrong. I could do it. I could end it any time if I could just gather the courage. All this pain, and fear, and judgment. All of it would be gone. Heaven knows I've got enough suicide notes piled up in these pages to provide a decent idea as to why I did it. _

_Maybe someday, I'll give them all a chance to read it. _

_As for now, I'll keep lying, and cutting, and puking. God knows that's all my fat ass is good for. _

_Draco Malfoy_

"That's all you're good for." I whisper, as I stare down at the pages. Something wet smudges my signature, and it takes me a moment to realize that I'm crying now. I sniff and impatiently wipe the tears from my face. "That's all you're good for, you worthless, disgusting piece of shit." Two more tears hit the pages, and I close the cover of the notebook. I'm not up for class today.

Locking my journal back into my bedside table, I lie down and curl into a comfortable position. I drape my arm across my face. If I sleep, I can't cry, and I need to be presentable for dinner time.

Eventually, I'm able to pass out.

I awake a few hours later to the sounds of the door being slammed open, and Blaise talking loudly to Theo as they walk in. I groan, wincing from my sudden headache.

"Fuck off, Blaise." Theo is saying. "I'm not loaning you anything else."

"Oh come on, man. I didn't mean to lose this one. I swear."

I roll over and sit up, rubbing at my eyes, which are a little crusty from crying before I forced myself into sleep.

"You never mean to lose them!" Theo exclaims. "Just go buy yourself your own damn quills!"

"I can't until Friday." Blaise whines. "I already spent my allowance money." I try to block them out. My wrist is stinging, sharply, and I look down to see that one or two of the cuts has bled through the sleeve of my shirt. I sigh. I have to stop ruining my shirts like this. I'm useless when it comes to charm work, so I don't know how rid them of these bloodstains…

I stare at the scabs on fingers. If I was useful at all in charms, I wouldn't have to shove my fingers down my throat. I feel the depression starting to suffocate me all over again. Ignoring my roommates, I hurry into the bathroom and step into the shower.

"Come on." I whisper to myself. "Get yourself together Malfoy." Dried blood caked on my wrists begins to liquefy, running off my fingertips and swirling dramatically down the drain. Regardless of anything I might be feeling or thinking at this very moment, when I step out of this shower, I have to go back to being a Malfoy again.

This weakness is truly my darkest secret. It's the part of me that absolutely nobody should ever see.

I slide down the wall so that I'm sitting on the shower floor. It's getting hard to keep pretending. I fight off the urge to start crying again, and pull deep, steadying breaths from the steamy air surrounding me. I take my showers way too hot, and I watch my pale skin turn an angry red beneath the water.

Purging type Anorexia. That's what the muggles call it. An "eating disorder". A psychological condition which constitutes as a legitimate mental illness. Bullshit. It's all bullshit. What I do is means of staying with the familial and social pressures that come with being me. A method of perfection. A mechanism which keeps me where I need to be. I may be a lot of things, but a psych case certainly isn't one of them. If it were up to them, my cuts would land me in a metal ward, too, and any moron can figure out that a simple, harmless coping method isn't enough to warrant slapping me with an "addict" label and shipping me off to St. Mungo's. I'm fine.

Still, sitting here on the shower floor, forced to examine my body, I'm beginning to wish I'd brought a blade in here with me. I can't hide them in the shower, for obvious reasons. I glance up and spot Blaise's shower razor. It will have to do.

I grab it.

The only place a shaving razor is good for is the hips, because it's the only spot where the skin is thin enough to penetrate. Otherwise, it's hard to get a good, blood-drawing slice. I take the razor and run it a few times over my hip bones. It takes a good moment before the blood begins to surface, and it does so in groups of 3. One line per blade in the razor. I watch, satisfied, as the beads of blood run down my skin and into the water below.

This is effective in cheering me, slightly. Enough at least to get on with tonight's dinner show.

I step out of the shower and wrap my towel all the way up beneath my armpits. In my haste, I have forgotten to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom with me, and so now I'm faced with the dilemma of dressing myself without exposing my cuts to my roommates. I listen briefly at the door, and determine that Blaise and Theo haven't left yet.

I take a deep breath. No matter how many times I have come close to discovery, the anxiety never fades. I've done this dozens of times. Yet, I still feel like at any moment one of them is going to call me out.

I open to door and fast-walk across the dorm room, and hide myself in my curtains before either one has had the chance to notice me. I take a moment to catch my breath. My hands are shaking. I groan at my pathetic sensibilities and pull a shirt from my bedside drawer. I pull it on over my cuts and button it slowly, examining my forearms to make sure that they aren't going to bleed through on me. After my shirt, I attend to my pants and trousers, wincing slightly as my waistband bites into my newest lacerations.

I tuck in my shirt, do my belt, pull on my robe, straighten my tie, fix my hair, and trim my fingernails.

A Malfoy must always be presentable. Especially during dinner time.

God forbid someone watches me eat.

The concept makes me shudder.

"Hey, Malfoy?" Blaise calls from the doorway. "You coming or what?" Taking one final, stabilizing breath. I turn to Blaise and nod.

"Yeah." I answer strongly. "I'm coming."

The show must go on.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner, as usual, is a torturous occasion for me. I cram myself between Blaise and Pansy, forcing myself to feign interest in meaningless subjects, such as who wore what to the latest pureblood charity auction, the horridness of the muggleborns in the school, and the incompetence of Professor Dumbledore. Then, I'm forced to sit still as Parkinson feels me up beneath the table, whispering what I'm sure she believes to be sexy nothings into my cringing ear. I have to laugh when I'm supposed to laugh, smile when I'm expected to, and grimace in outrage wherever it's appropriate.

The tedium, however, is nothing compared to the one man show that I put on every single meal time as I sit down and am expected to eat. I am a Malfoy, and what this translates into is that no matter what, I am always watched. Always. I'm observed and scrutinized right down to the way I lift my fork to my mouth, and for someone like me… someone with an already fragile self-esteem, this is basically an anxiety attack waiting to happen. Were it really up to me, I simply wouldn't eat. It would save me the trauma that comes hand in hand with the observation.

I can't have it that way, though. Pansy spends more time fussing over me than my mother ever did, and that means that god forbid I don't eat my fair share, she'll be sure to pitch a fit. And if I've learned one thing over the last 2 years, it's that that isn't the type of attention I want – especially from them. Hence the "purging" aspect of "purging type anorexia." But I guess it's for the best.

At least this way, I don't get hungry.

Tonight's topic of conversation is the ridiculousness of Muggle Studies as a subject, and the clearly falling standards here at Hogwarts. I try my best to tune out the most of it, chiming in when required, and focus on the majority of my energy on the simple task of eating. I ritualistically start slicing my steak into tiny pieces. Not only does this kill time and extend the eating process, it helps limit the amount of intake – keeping me from overeating.

For some reason, I look up from my plate and across the hall to the Gryffindor table. I stare momentarily at Potter, who seems to be at ease, leaning back against his chair, laughing openly at something someone has said, and seeming in no way troubled, judged, or anxious. I feel a pang of sadness before I bring myself back to my senses.

_No, Draco, stop. You cannot do that here._

I can't help but wonder how much Potter suspects of me, and what it will mean for me if he is any bit as smart as I think he is.

Anxiety rides up in my insides.

_No, stop. You have to stop. _

I close my eyes, briefly, and refocus my attention on the petty conversation surrounding me. When dinner finally comes to a close, I feel emotionally and physically drained.

After lunch the next day, I find myself in the bathroom again. This time, however, I choose one on the second floor – with lower student volume and a lower chance of discovery. I glance around in the hallways to make sure I'm not being followed, and duck inside.

I choose a stall in the far back corner and take care of what I need to. I stay locked in the stall for a moment after I flush, taking a few deep breaths and ensuring that I keep myself together. I'm not feeling very well today. Gathering myself, I open the stall door and approach a sink. For a moment, I think I'm hallucinating the sight of Potter's reflection of the mirror.

He followed me. I didn't even hear him come in.

"Bad food again, Malfoy?" He asks me as I try my best to ignore him. I wash my hands.

"I must be lucky." I mumble, without looking at him. I hear him sigh in exasperation.

"Oh come on. You can't be serious." I pull out my toothbrush and keep my eyes focused on the sink below me.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I answer him shortly. I give my teeth a quick once over – quicker than I normally would – and spit into the bowl. I try to leave but Potter steps in front of me.

"Malfoy, you have a problem. Admit it." I'm forced to pick my gaze up from off the floor and look him in the eye.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I repeat, this time more firmly. "Get out of my face." I try to step around him, and again, he blocks my path. I repress the desire to growl in frustration. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I'm not an idiot, Malfoy. Something's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" I snap, trying, and failing, to pass him for a third time. "I know how desperately you want me to have a problem so you and your little Gryffindor friends can use it," I spit, now summoning the full effect of the 'Malfoy voice.' "But I will not be intimidated by you, do you understand?" I lower my voice in a way which I hope will sound menacing. "Get out of my face." Potter stares at me, silently. I try to pass him, and this time he lets me.

Unfortunately for me, the next class I have Potter also has, and so I hear his footsteps behind me in the hallway. This means a few things for me. The first is that no matter how much Potter's confrontation has upset me, I have to keep up my charade for at least another hour. Second, I can't skip class like yesterday, because that would cause suspicion, and third, going back into the bathroom to cut is probably the last thing I could possibly do, and so I'm stuck with this anxiety until I can get away from Potter.

I take a deep breath as I approach each staircase, reminding myself that he still can't prove a thing.

After what seems like an eternity, I reach the Transfiguration classroom and take a seat in the very back, next to Theo. Potter comes in a moment later, and sits beside Granger. We're not late, but we've only barely made it.

"Where have you been?" Theo hisses in my direction.

"In the loo." I answer shortly. "Since when is it your business?" Theo shoots me a look and I slide down into my chair. I cross my arms across my chest and find one spot to stare at on the board. Flitwick prances in a moment later, rolling an old muggle record player that is bigger than he is.

"Good afternoon, class." He greets. "I hope you're all excited for today's practical lesson on animation charms. I've brought along some music for the occasion."

I groan. Had I remember that today was a practical lesson, I would have disregarded Potter and skipped class anyway. I pull my arms tighter around myself. I need to get out of here.

"For the first 10 minutes I'd like us to discuss what sort of methods we can use to make our animation charms more effective. After that, I will have you practice them on your own."

I can't do this.

"Ms. Granger, would you be so kind as to give us the first tip?"

While the muggle girl drones on about academics, I try to think of a way that I can escape this situation without making a fool out of myself. I can't think of anything, and before I know it we're being told to stand.

"Now remember," he's saying. "Crisp words are a must. _Chorum Objectum_."

I stand and start hopelessly flicking my wand in the direction of the book that I'm supposed to be making dance. Of course, nothing happens. This is such a stupid fucking spell. When in my life am I ever going to need to make an object dance? A moment later I hear the scratch of a record player, and awful swing music begins to fill the class room.

I look around me. No one else seems to be having too much trouble. Granger has her glass ballerina doing a full on dance routine to the music, Weasley's butterbeer bottle is at least hopping to the beat, Theo has everything going for him. Even Longbottom at least has his object _moving. _

"_Chorum Objectum!_" I tell my wand. The book flops pathetically about the desk and feel myself blinking back tears. "Come on." I mutter under my breath.

I hate charms. I hate charms so, so much.

Sure, _this _charm is stupid. But what am I going to do in a year from now when I can't even perform a simple healing spell? How am I supposed to go about my life when even a simple scouring charm breaks my plate in half? I'm a failure as a wizard…

After almost fifteen minutes of pathetic flailing, professor Flitwick begins to notice that I'm useless.

"Potter!" I hear him say cheerfully. "You have improved remarkably this term!"

"Oh, thanks, Professor." Theo scoffs next to me.

"What, Malfoy? You've never done a charm before?"

"I was wondering if you and Granger could do me a favour."

"Fuck off, Theo."

"Sure, Professor."

"Whatever, Malfoy."

"Some of the other students seem to be struggling. I'd like you to help them out."

"Oh, of course, Professor Flitwick."

"Fantastic. Ms. Granger, go ahead and work with Mr. Finnegan, before he blows up another desk. Potter, I need to you help Mr. Malfoy."

I stop moving.

"Uhm… I'm not sure if that's a great idea…"

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Potter. You two can take the empty desk in the back. Go on. I need to speak with Ms. Patil." I hear Potter sigh heavily, and a moment later he approaches my desk.

"Professor Flitwick said that I'm supposed to help you." He mumbles, begrudgingly.

"Well don't act so bloody happy to see me," I snap. Potter rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Malfoy. There's more room over there." Realizing that I really haven't a choice in the matter, I follow Potter to the empty desk.

Kill me.

"Well," Says Potter awkwardly. "What seems to be the problem?" I don't answer him, but instead stare at the grains of wood in the desk we're standing at. Potter sighs. "Look, I can't help if you won't let me."

"Then leave." I snap, coldly. Pretending I hadn't spoken, Potter pulls his wand from his pocket and points it at the snitch he brought.

"_Chorum Objectum." _

Immediately, the snitch snaps to life and begins a pattern of artistic flight. I watch, bitterly, as he guides the object around, and then slowly lowers it back into its resting place. I fight off a lump in my throat, and summon my Malfoy voice.

"Big fucking deal, Potter." Potter frowns.

"Look Malfoy, you can either fight me on this, or you can shut up and let me help you. It's your choice." I'm silent for a moment.

"Fine." I answer, finally.

"Alright." Says Potter. "Then why don't you show me what you've been doing? I pull out my wand.

"_Chorum Objectum_." I mutter. The book flops, once, and dies. The lump grows, my cuts sting, and something starts screaming inside my stomach. I shouldn't be here right now. Potter looks calculatingly at my book.

"Hmm." He says. "Well, for starters, it really helps if you speak more clearly, almost like you're giving an order." I don't respond. "Also…" He continues awkwardly, "I think it's really useful to picture the book as an actual, living object. Like a dog, or something, that you've trained to do a trick. It's the same concept as those school brooms, you know? That you have to say 'up' to… You have to decide, mentally, that it's _supposed _dance."

I take a deep breath.

_You're okay._ I tell myself.

"Alright." I answer, quietly. I try to erase everything else from my mind and focus only on the book. As Potter instructed me, I imagine the book as an animal. I assign it a personality, a name, a face. I picture it in my head for a few moments jumping up and down and even barking at me. And as stupid as this is, I'm doing it, because I really do want to be able to do this charm.

"_Chorum Objectum!" _I demand. The book jumps up, balances on one corner of the spine, spins around, twice, and then plops back down on the desk. I stare at in disbelief, a hint of a smile on the corners of my mouth. "It worked." I say, stupidly. I look up and see that Potter is beaming at me.

"That was great, Malfoy!" He says. "Really, that was so much better." In spite of myself, I smile. "This time," He continues, "do that same thing again, but I want you to make crisper motions with your wand. You're not committed enough. You need to take total control over this spell."

I'm too amazed that I actually did something that I forget to snap at him.

"Okay." I tell him. Again, I close my eyes and picture the dog/book in front of me. "_Chorum Objectum!" _I demand.

The book snaps up again, spins a full four times, and does a few flips before going lifeless. Forgetting who I'm talking to, I look up and smile at Potter.

"Did you see that?" I ask him, excitedly. "I made it dance!" Potter smiles back at me, and offers me a high five.

"See what happens when you let people help you?"

"Yeah, thanks, I – oh." I take in the double meaning of his words. Before he has a chance to say anything, Flitwick approaches our table.

"How are we doing over here, boys?" He asks.

"Great, Professor." Says Potter. "We're doing a lot better." I glare at the desk, irritated.

"That's good to hear. Mr. Malfoy, why don't you show me what you've been working on?" Looking up, I nod.

"Of course, Professor." I answer.

I perform the charm again. When I look up, the tiny man is smiling at me.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy! Very much improved!" He looks at Potter. "Perhaps I should pair the two of you together more often. Nice work, Mr. Potter." He offers us one final smile, and then walks away. On the inside, I'm fuming.

"Look, Malfoy," Potter says, like the encounter with Flitwick hadn't happened. "I won't pester you. Not here, anyway. Just remember…"

"Remember what?" I snap.

"I – well…" Potter sighs. "Whatever, Malfoy. Let's do it again." I turn my back on him.

Fuck Potter and his concern.

I'm fine.


	3. Chapter 3

To my irritation, Potter continues to follow me to the bathroom over the next two days. We never acknowledge each other and he pretends he's only there to use the loo. It's progressed to the point where he's following me after breakfast and dinner too, and so I've been having to sneak out during lessons I don't have with the Gryffindors in order to throw up. It's really messing up my schedule, sending my anxiety levels through the roof, and making it hard to eat at all. At this point, I can't ignore that he knows, and the idea that he could tell anyone at any time terrifies me.

During our next charms lesson, Flitwick pairs us together again. We're spending one more day on animation charms before moving on to something else. As Potter sits beside me, I see Blaise and Theo gaze sympathetically in my direction from the other side of the room. I grimace at them. Last lesson, I told them how working with Potter was the worst thing I've ever had to do, and after the days I've had, it's been taking a tremendous amount of energy to play my usual charade. It's draining just to realize that I'm going to have to do the same thing all over tonight, and I feel myself beginning to dread the night ahead of me.

"You know," I say to Potter without looking at him. "If you continue to follow me into the loo, people are going to get the wrong idea." I try to make it a joke, but when I look up, his expression is serious.

"There's nothing funny here, Malfoy." He answers.

"There's nothing here at all." I deadpan. "So stop." Potter sighs.

"Malfoy, please…" I glare at him.

"I said, back off." I snap, threateningly. He stares at me, silently, for a moment before he shakes his head in resignation and pulls the snitch from his robe pocket.

"Let's keep working on this," He says, forcing a cheerful tone. "Did you bring something else this time?" Without speaking to him, I pull a long, ornate quill from my bag. He had suggested last lesson that perhaps something other than a book would respond better to my charm. I listened. "Good." He says, smiling at me, and I resent his gentle tone. "You can picture it like a quick-quotes quill. But instead of writing, it's been charmed to dance." I just nod.

I don't speak for a number of reasons. The first, is that I'm angry with him, and don't want to give him the courtesy. The second, is that it's so exhausting to even pretend that it just isn't worth my energy. The third, and main reason, is that just the fact that I even have to be here is making me want to cry. I'm so, so, so fucking useless.

"Are you okay, Malfoy?" Potter asks. Honestly? No, I'm not. I'm humiliated. I'm ashamed. I'm disgusted that I'm so horrible at something so simple that I need one on one help from Harry fucking Potter. The fact that it's actually working is even further insult. I need my razorblade.

I get so lost in my own self-hatred that I almost forget to answer him.

"I'm fine." I snap, a little too late for comfort. "Stop talking to me like that." I add, before I can stop myself.

"Like what?" He asks me, bewildered.

"Like I'm fragile." I mutter. "Nevermind." _Shut up, you disgusting piece of shit. You're blowing it! Pull yourself together. You are a Malfoy, dammit! _

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Malfoy." Says Potter, staring at me worriedly.

"Forget it." I drawl, coldly. _That's right. Keep it going._ "Just do the fucking charm already, Pothead." He watches me for a moment and his eyes narrow into a glare.

"You know what, Malfoy? Fuck you." He pulls his wand out and performs the charm with a little more force than necessary and I try to ignore the icy sensation on my insides. I scratch at my arm from the outside of my sleeve, and remind myself that I have a nice, sharp blade waiting for me when this class is over.

I watch what Potter does and repeat it back.

For the rest of class, we have no interaction aside from his advice. By the time the class is over, my quill is – miraculously – dancing in a perfect, beautiful pattern. As we walk out, Potter praises me, and I'm not sure whether I'm happy that I did it, or if I'm humiliated that it worked at all.

I close my eyes as Potter walks beside me. I need to get away from him. I stop in my tracks.

"I thought you told me to fuck off, Potter!" I snap. "I figured that would mean you'd leave me the fuck alone." He glares at me, but to my distain, follows me to restroom. As I look myself in a stall to pee, I find myself forcing back tears. _Get it together, Malfoy! You're disgusting._ I take deep, steadying breaths. I hate that I'm doing this with him just outside the door, but I'm a few seconds away from having a crying fit with my enemy standing only a few feet away.

I pull the blade from my robe pocket and pull down my pants. I sit on the toilet to avoid suspicion and start slicing away at my hips. This is a sad alternative to my wrists, but I can't risk him seeing the blood and outing me for a cutter too.

I do this for as long as I can get away with before flushing and unlocking the door. As per our routine, I wash my hands, and he pretends that I was never there.

Finally, I escape Potter's watch, and retreat to the Slytherin dorms alone.

_24 September 1996_

_Potter knows. Potter one hundred percent absolutely knows. There's not a god damn thing that I can do about it. _

_You know that prat has been following me into the loo after every fucking meal and class for the last two days? I've had to sneak out during potions! I don't know if I can handle this anymore. I almost burst into tears after Charms today, while he was standing right outside. It's exhausting. _

_I mean, how am I supposed to keep being a Malfoy for the entire damn world when I have to put all my effort into hiding things from Potter? _

I stop writing for a moment and think.

_Or maybe I __**shouldn't **__hide them. He knows either way, right? I can't change that. So… so fuck him. Why should I give him this kind of power, anyway? He doesn't care about __**me**__. Just the puzzle… I shouldn't let myself get so worked up about his worthless ass. _

_I'm going to just give up on Potter. _

_I'll let you know how it turns out. _

_Draco. _

During the next couple hours, I stay locked within the confines of bed, reading a book and enjoying some well-needed peace. My nerves have been on edge lately, and I need to have some time to myself if I'm going to avoid having some sort of breakdown in the future.

Just as I'm reaching the final chapter, the door to the dorm room bursts open. Blaise and Theo barge in, laughing about something I'm no doubt about to hear, destroying my peace and forcing me into Malfoy mode. I really, really, hate being in Malfoy mode.

"Oy!" Says Theo, wrenching my curtains open. "There you are, mate. We thought you'd been kidnapped." I force a laugh.

"Eh, well. After spending so long with Potter, I fancied a shower. Or three. I think I've still got his stink in my hair…" For some reason, I feel a small tinge of guilt over saying it. _Don't go soft on him, Malfoy. _Blaise and Theo laugh, seeming to take my explanation.

"Well you didn't miss much." Blaise drawls as he plops down on his own bed. I give a noncommittal grunt in response. "You better get better at charms." He says, seriously. "Or you'll be taking four showers a day for the rest of term." I fold into myself, embarrassed.

"Yeah, Malfoy." Theo chimes in. "No one deserves that kind of torture." I want to close my curtains and hide from them, but doing so would create too much suspicion. I can feel myself turning red.

"I'll get right on that." I mumble, attempting to sound lighthearted.

"I can tutor you," Theo says with a laugh.

"I think I can handle it myself, Theo." I say coolly. "But thanks." I pick my book back up, indicating my lack of interest in continuing this conversation. I ignore the tingling sensation on my wrists and finish my novel. My roommates are kind enough to ignore me until dinner time.

After dinner, I head toward the restroom, intentionally choosing the furthest one possible from the Great Hall. Somehow, despite this, I hear Potter's footsteps behind me as I open the washroom door. I don't look at him.

"If you're going to insist on following me, you may as well make yourself useful." I mumble. "Guard the door."

"Are you serious?" I hear him ask me, incredulously? I stop and look at him.

"Fine then." I say shortly. "I'll be quick." I start walking toward the stalls.

"You're really going to do this? Now? While I'm here?" I stop again and spin around.

"While, Potter." I snap. "You already know, and I know damn well you won't tell on me. I also know that you're too stubborn to stop following me. So tell me, why would I waste my time and energy trying to hide from you?" Potter steps forward, his expression defiant.

"How do you know I'm not going to tell?" I step closer and look him over threateningly.

"Because someone would die." I answer, with enough conviction he actually looks alarmed. I hope he doesn't understand that I'm referring to myself. "Are you going to guard the door or aren't you?" He looks at me as though I've lost my mind.

"No!" He answers, loudly. I shrug, and turn around. "Malfoy, stop…" He calls after me as I lock myself in the furthest stall from the door.

I take a few shaking breaths after I've locked myself away. My hands are trembling. _Just do it. He has no power over you. Just do it. _I try to forget that Potter is listening, and I shove my fingers down my throat. I retch, vomiting my dinner. I do this a solid four times, making up for my wonky schedule, and partially to spite the boy outside. I stand in the stall longer than I usually would before I flush.

When I open the door, I walk past Potter and wash my hands as if nothing had ever happened.

"I can't believe you actually did that." He says, staring at me.

"I can't believe you stuck around to listen." I drawl. He watches me, silently.

"You're bleeding." He tells me, in a tone I can't place. I look down at my fingers.

"Yeah, well, that happens." I answer shortly. I pull out my toothbrush and run it beneath the tap. Potter continues to watch me.

"How long have you been doing this, Malfoy?" I ignore him. He doesn't leave, and I feel my frustration begin to grow. "Malfoy…" I spit and turn to him, feircly.

"Malfoy, what, Potter?!" I snap. "You caught me, okay? I make myself throw up! That's it. That's all you know. That's all you WILL know! We are not friends, we will not talk about this, and this does not concern you. Do you understand?!"

"Malfoy," Potter answers in an annoyingly calm manner, "you need help." I stand up at tall as I can and I look him straight in the eye.

"If you continue following me, the only thing that you will gain is the pleasure of listening to me vomit." I answer, just as calm. "Now, you can do that all you like, but I will have to seriously question your mentality if you do."

"You can't keep doing this." I force a laugh.

"The wonderful part about this, Potter, is that you have absolutely no impact on my life. Really, I can. And I will. And you will have no further part in this other than being a rather depraved witness who seems to enjoy the sound of retching. So, kindly fuck off and leave me to my life." I spin around and walk away, leaving him – mouth agape – in the middle of the bathroom.

As I head back toward the Slytherin dorms to ready myself for bed, I try not to think of the fact that I will continue having to pair with him for Charms.


	4. Chapter 4

_29__th__ September 1996 _

_So, Potter has stopped following me into the bathroom. After he realized that I was going to keep doing what I was doing despite his presence, he just sort of gave up and left me alone. I haven't talked to him, I haven't looked at him. He's ignoring me. It's exactly what I wanted. The even greater part is that if he hasn't told anyone by now, I don't think he will. _

_For some reason, I don't feel happy. Don't get me wrong, I definitely didn't want him to keep tailing me. I wanted him to leave me alone. It's just… _

I stop writing and stare down at the page. Just what? That I'd secretly been hoping that he'd care enough to do something about it? Ha! Why would anyone do that?

_I pushed him away anyway. _

I stop writing again and bite down on both my lips in a stupid attempt to keep my chin from quivering. If I didn't feel so awful, I'd probably laugh at how pathetic I am. I squeeze my eyes shut. _Don't cry! This is stupid! _It's too late, though. It's always too late, these days. I try to take a breath, and instead of breathing I begin to sob.

This has nothing to do with Potter. It really doesn't.

_The last three days have been awful. Theo and Blaise have been teasing me, Snape is starting to bully me about my grades, I got a letter from father, and I've been too miserable to do any of my coursework. We're supposed to have studied up on undetectable extension charms, but I have gotten nothing done and I'm going to make a fool of myself in charms today. _

My stomach gets tight as I remember that I'm going to have to face Potter again.

_I swear to god just the thought of facing these people is making me feel like I'm going to throw up. It's not even 8 am and I'm here, shaking, crying, and nauseous at the prospect of the day ahead of me. I've been getting really close to ending it, lately. I just need the right push. The right little shove. _

I glance at the clock.

_My roommates are going to be awake soon, and I still need to take a shower. I need to get myself together before breakfast. _

_I can't skip classes anymore. _

_Father said. _

_Talk to you later,_

_Draco Malfoy. _

I wipe the tears from my face and take as many deep, calming breaths as I can without breaking into sobs again. In my own defense, I wouldn't be such a mess if I hadn't had that nightmare last night. I pull the razorblade from my journal, collect a towel and some clothes for the day, and sneak off into the shower.

I put my clean clothes on the counter, take the razorblade, and strip out of my pajamas. I deliberately avoid looking in the mirror as I run the tap and step into the stream.

This is the first time that I will have to face Potter since the incident on Thursday. While plenty of people have walked in on me before, this was the first time I've ever induced vomiting knowing that someone was listening and fully aware of what I was doing.

It was supposed to make me feel better, not hiding from him.

Instead, I'm terrified of facing him.

I slide down the shower wall and take a seat. I smile, miserably, at my blade. I love the peace and quiet of the mornings.

My breathing begins to calm, steadily, as I run the razor's edge over and over and over across my skin. This morning, the target is my stomach, and as I watch the blood run down the drain in a steady, calming stream, I begin to clear my head.

Despite the awful, awful week I've had so far, I have to keep this up. I can do this. I can. I'm going to go to breakfast, talk shit about the Gryffindors, attend my classes, eat at lunch, and then deal with Potter the way I always do. This doesn't change a thing. I'm going to be okay.

Alright, fine. Not okay. I'm not okay. But… I'll be alright. I'm not going to blow my cover, and I most certainly am not going to lose my cool in front of Potter. After about 10 cuts, I feel okay enough to stop. I set the razor down on the edge of the tub, and pull myself to my feet. I steady myself against the wall as the world spins around me.

That's a downside of the purging, but I've learned to live with it.

Knowing my roommates are certain to be up by now, I wash quickly and step out of the shower. I don't look at myself until I've dressed, and when I do, I groan. Despite my shower, my pale complexion has made it all too obvious that I have been crying all morning. I sigh. There's nothing I can do now aside from hope that no one notices.

I scoff to myself. Of course they won't. They never do.

I take a deep breath before I open the door. Here goes nothing.

As I enter the dormitory I pull my robe tighter around my body to ward off the cold. Theo rushes into the bathroom as I exit, and Blaise is sitting on his bed, pulling on his socks. I avoid eye contact, knowing that being forced to talk might give away my current state of vulnerability. I sit down on my own bed and open my bedside drawer. I wait until no one is looking and sneak my razorblade back into my journal.

"What do you have there, Malfoy?" I hear Blaise snap. I sigh.

"None of your business, Zabini." I answer, coldly. He laughs and walks over to my four-poster as I'm putting my journal away.

"I hope that's not a bloody diary," he says. "Otherwise you've forgotten who you are and where you are." I glare at him, and lock the drawer, pointedly.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, Blaise." I answer, calmly, standing up and staring him down in an attempt to intimidate. He shoves my chest, and to my embarrassment I'm knocked back down to my bed.

"That you're a fucking man and this is the Slytherin house." He says. He looks over my position on the bed. "God, Malfoy." He says with a laugh. "You need to start working out more." He turns around and walks away. I stare after him, keeping my face plastered into a cold glare, while inwardly fighting with myself not to give up all together and spend the day in bed.

Blaise and Theo have always teased me, and each other, as part of what seems like the accepted social interaction between boys. Lately, however, they have – Blaise especially – been particularly hard on me and everything that I do. It's getting to the point where I wonder if it is still only playful, and playful or not, it hurts. Taking a deep breath, I pull on my socks and trainers. My hands shake, making it difficult to do up my laces. By the time I'm done, I have to follow my roommates into the Great Hall for breakfast.

This morning, as Pansy crams herself against me, the only thing that I can think of is meeting with Potter today. It's not a practical lesson, so there's a good enough chance that I won't even have to sit with him. Even still, I'm going to have to sit in a room with him, trying to ignore him as he stares at me for the duration of a lecture, silently judging me on my deepest secret. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to handle even that.

I look down at my plate in front of me. My eggs and toast have already been sliced into dime-sized pieces and the juice I've been sipping on is almost gone. Pansy is watching me closely. I have to eat. Picking up my fork, I start slowly eating my breakfast, piece by piece. I listen, the best I can, to the conversation around me, and chime in when it's appropriate. By the time breakfast has ended, my plate is empty, and I've been through 3 glasses of juice.

This most certainly will not do.

As soon as the opportunity presents itself, I break away from my housemates on the way to our first lesson and sneak off into the bathroom. I don't typically do this this early in the morning, but for perfection to be maintained, sometimes exceptions need to be made. I lock myself in a stall and shove my fingers down my throat. I keep at it until all that comes up is stomach acid and I can be sure that I haven't missed anything.

As I walk out my throat is burning, my fingers are bleeding and I feel so exhausted that even the idea of going to class makes me want to collapse. Even still, I'm going to have to do it anyway. As I brush my teeth, I examine my face in the mirror. The rod splotches still haven't gone completely away and my eyes are still bloodshot from crying today. Disgusted with myself, I turn my eyes on the sink. I hear a stall door open behind me and ignore it, spitting the taste of vomit out of my mouth. The person approaches the sink beside me and begins washing their hands.

I pick up my gaze with the intention of snapping at them to mind my personal space, and it's only then that I realize that it's fucking Potter again, standing at the sink, and watching me sadly. I feel a surge of legitimate rage travel through my body.

"Are fucking kidding me, Potter?" I snap. Potter holds out both of his hands in some sort of gesture of surrender.

"I hadn't meant to this time, Draco. I swear." I stare in disbelief over his use of my first name. "This time really was just an accident. You came in _after _me, remember?" I glare at him, and say nothing. Potter stands in an awkward silence for a moment and then sighs. "Alright well, I'll see you around, Malfoy." He turns around and starts walking away.

I stare after him, entirely unsure how to feel about the fact that he has simply given up. I guess I was right. It was the mystery he was after, and now that his mystery has been solved, I am no longer relevant. The thought depresses me greatly.

Halfway to the door, Potter stops. He seems to be in an attempt to talk himself out of something before he finally gives in and looks at me.

"Are you okay, Malfoy? Honestly." He asks me, looking straight into my bloodshot eyes. When I open my mouth to answer, no words come out. I come rapidly to the realization that no one has ever truly asked this of me and meant it.

"I'm fine." I stammer out, lying. I gain my composure and glower at him. "What's it to you, anyway, Potter?" I spit. He looks at me for second, raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.

"I don't even know why I asked." He sighs. "I'll see you in Charms, Malfoy." He walks out the door.

I watch him, silently. Inside my robe pocket, I finger my razorblade. Do I have time? I don't, really. And I have Snape's class right now, so I can't exactly risk being late… Resolving to use the restroom during a later class, I follow Potter out of the bathroom and start the trek toward the dungeons. I sigh. It's the first class of the day, and already, I feel like the life has been kicked out of me.

I take a seat in the back of class and watch the commotion around me like I've been separated by a sheet of glass.

I swallow a lump in my throat. I really don't feel well.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning moves too quickly, and somehow I find myself back in charms class, in my usual seat beside Theo. I'm slightly paranoid because I snuck out during Transfiguration and cut myself, and I'm afraid that some of them may have bled through my sleeves. This day has been going horribly, and I want nothing more than to go up to my dormitory and lie down.

"Have you done your studying, Draco?" Theo teases. "You don't want to get stuck with Potter again. Or _do _you?" I flip him off, but say nothing. I threw up again after lunch; my throat hurts. I wrap my fingers around the cuff of my robe sleeve and rest my chin on my hand. I force myself to stay awake, and try to focus on pretty much anything aside from the people sitting around me.

"Good afternoon class!" Chirps Professor Flitwick as he trots into the classroom. "Today, we are going to begin studying the Undetectable Extension Charm. I hope you have all done the reading, as I will begin the day with a little quiz." There is a collective groan throughout the room as I inwardly begin to panic. Flitwick waves us off. "No, no. It's nothing to worry about." He assures. "Just reading comprehension, that's all." I press the palms of my hands up to my eyes. This is not good. "I will pass the examinations around now."

There's a flourish of parchment, and everyone begins to dig around their bags for quills and ink. Realizing that there really is no way out of this, I pull out a quill and some emerald green ink. The paper lands on my desk a moment later.

_1: While the Undetectable Extension Charm is very useful, its use is banned in certain situations by the ministry. Name 2 of these 3 situations. _

My hand shakes as I scrawl out a made up answer. I pray to myself that Flitwick won't also be writing my father about my grades, or there's a decent chance I won't make it til Christmas.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Flitwick collects our papers and smiles cheerfully out at the room.

"Now," he begins. "With this charm, we will be beginning a unit in advanced practical charmwork. Because this is the hardest unit you will have had yet, I will be dividing you into pairs for the remainder of this section. You and your partner will study together, do practicals together, and at the end of the unit will be expected to turn in a project that demonstrates what you have learned. You are warned that every single one of these charms will be appearing on your NEWT exams, and carry strong practical uses outside of the classroom." I lay my head down in my arms. "Yes, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Will we be able to pick our partners?"

"No, Mr. Finnegan." Says Professor Flitwick. The room groans again. "I have already decided on your partners, based on who I think will most benefit each other according to my observations as a teacher. So no, you most likely will not be paired with your friends." I fight to stay awake. "Now, if there are no more questions, I will go down the list of names. When I call your names, please find your partner and sit with them."

_Granger and Finnegan_

_Parkinson and Patil_

_Nott and Weasley _

Theo swears, loudly.

"That will be 10 points from Slytherin, Mr. Nott. Might I also add that I expect full cooperation during this time, or both your grade, and your house points will suffer."

_Thomas and Longbottom_

_Potter and Malfoy_

I hear Blaise jeer behind me as I sit up and look over at Potter. I sigh. I can't say that I didn't see this coming. I wait until Flitwick isn't looking and show him my middle finger. Then I gather my stuff and move to sit beside Potter in the back.

_Goyle and Zabini _Flitwick continues.

_Bullstrode and Dunbar_

"And finally, _Greengrass and Midgen."_

I refuse to look at Potter and Flitwick rolls up his parchment and sets the list on his desk.

"Now that that has been covered, I'd like you all to chat briefly about what you've learned in your reading, and share with one another what you found most interesting."

A murmur arises in the classroom as each of the students begin to awkwardly and grudgingly share their findings with their partners. I stare straight ahead and refuse to acknowledge Potter's existence.

"So…" he says. "What did you think was the most interesting part of the reading, Malfoy?" again, I ignore him. He's silent for a moment. "Well _I _thought it was cool that you can _overdo _this charm, and that's why it's so tricky to do well."

"Really now?" I mumble, without looking at him.

"Well, yeah…" says Potter, hesitantly. "Didn't you do the reading, Malfoy?"

"Why don't you just mind your own damn business, Potter?" I snap in response. Potter sighs.

"Look, Malfoy. I get it. You don't like me. I don't really like you either, to be honest, but you heard Professor Flitwick. Either we get along, or we fail. Now, you might be okay with that, but I'm not. So just get the fuck off your high horse and work with me, or I'm going to tell him that you're refusing to cooperate." I feel tears sting behind my eyes and I blink them back before I look at him.

"Fine." I mutter. Potter throws a fake smile in my direction.

"Good." Instead of answering, I dig my thumb into my wrist. "We've been working together the past few days and we've been doing fine." Potter says. His voice becomes much gentler with this, and while I'd never admit to it out loud, I appreciate it deeply. "Why is there suddenly a problem?" I just watch him for a moment. He doesn't seem angry with me, only genuinely curious as to my behavior.

"I don't know." I answer, quietly. It's a lie. I do know. Potter and I are supposed to be enemies and if I allow the act to drop, I'll be exposed for the pathetic piece of shit that I actually am. Then again, Potter has already been witness to one of my deepest secrets.

"Alright," he answers slowly. "Look, if it's okay with you, it might be a good idea to meet later and go over the reading. That way we can get on the same page." I fold my arms across my chest.

"What makes you so sure I didn't do the reading?" I mumble. Potter looks me over with the same sad expression he used in the bathroom earlier today, and I wrap my arms tighter around myself, feeling self-conscious.

"Maybe you did." He offers. "But whether you have or not, I still think it would be a good idea to get together." I don't say anything. "But," he continues, "if it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to."

"That should be alright," I answer softly. "When?" Potter smiles, genuinely this time.

"How about tomorrow? After last lesson, before dinner. We can meet in the library and just make sure that we understand each other." I nod.

"Okay," I respond. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just your book," says Potter, nicely. "And whatever notes you take today during the lecture." I nod again, but don't speak. I have a hard time taking notes, especially on days like this one, where I need to focus a good deal of energy on keeping myself together. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands and watch as stars erupt behind my eyelids. When I pull them away, Potter is staring at the scabs on my fingers. I feel myself blush and shove my hands into my robe pockets. My head hurts.

"Alright," chirps Professor Flitwick. "I'm going to call on a few of you, and I'd like you each to tell me what your partner found to be the most interesting aspect of this charm." There's a groan. "This way, I can be sure we're starting off on the right foot and we're all cooperating." He looks at Potter. "Mr. Potter, please tell the class what Mr. Malfoy found to be the most intriguing." I resist the urge to hide behind my hands. This is it. Potter is going to sell me out, I'll be in trouble, and the entire class is going to know that I didn't do my work.

"Draco disagrees with the ministry ban on the charm's use on muggle artifacts." Potter rattles off, without skipping a beat. I look at him in genuine surprise. He gives me a reassuring smile which I would ordinarily find irritating. Today, it calms me, slightly. Flitwick nods and choses another victim. Not only did Potter just lie for me, he lied in a way which not a single person in this room would doubt.

"Thank you." I mouth at him. He nods at me.

"Everyone please pull out some parchment. I advise you to take careful notes, as this is important." My hands shake as I pull my materials from my bag. Potter seems to notice this, and I pretend not to notice his noticing.

As the lecture begins, Potter manages to scoot closer to me, so that our shoulders are nearly touching. He smells nice, and if I'm completely honest with myself, his closeness is comforting. I decide not to do the Malfoy thing and yell at him for not minding my space, and pretend I don't notice when his arm brushes mine.

I try to take notes as best I can, but my head is swimming and I'm having a hard time focusing. There is a feeling of anxiety building inside of me. I can't sit still. I start bouncing my leg up and down, and scratching at my wrist. Suddenly, Potter's shoulder is touching mine entirely. I freeze. When I turn my head to look at him, his eyes are on his paper, and he's taking notes as though he has no idea I'm watching him. When I don't stop staring, he looks up at me, offers that same smile, and goes back to his notes. It takes me a moment of confused staring to understand that he is sensing my discomfort and this is some sort of attempt to calm me. I should be offended, but I'm not. I let him stay there, and try to go back to my notes. I'll be useless as a partner if I don't at least try.

Unfortunately for me, I find my mind wandering off my notes and into darker corners of my head that I would much rather avoid. About halfway into the lecture I stop writing entirely, and close my eyes. I shouldn't have come to class today.

I take a deep breath and try to place my focus on the feeling of Potter's arm against mine. I am for the most part unused to human contact, and maybe his presence will do me some good.

_Come on, Malfoy, _I tell myself. _You only need to get through this class. 20 minutes. That's all I need from you. Stop being pathetic and get the fuck over it. _

The room feels smaller, somehow, and I feel like my body is attempting to ooze out of my skin. The concept of sitting still is agonizing. I scratch at my arm in an attempt to ease this, but it has little affect except to break open a few of my cuts, resulting in a stinging, and sticky sensation beneath my sleeve. If they hadn't been bleeding through before, they are now.

I close my fingers around my robe sleeve to make sure that this doesn't become visible, and glance suspiciously at the room around me. Potter is watching me out of the corner of his eye. I try to ignore him.

I weigh my options over in my mind. If I get up and leave now, I'll draw attention to myself, and risk my father hearing that I've been ditching classes again. If I stay, there's a decent possibility that I'll end up freaking out and drawing even more attention to myself. Potter taps on me and I turn to look at him, startled. He slides a piece of paper in front of me.

_Are you okay? _I stare at it. Lie. I should lie, that's what I should do. I pick up my quill with the intention of telling him to fuck off. As I'm about to answer, I pause. Potter isn't stupid. He already knows more than I'd ever have wanted, and he's smart enough to know that I'm not okay right now. So tell me, what's the point? Potter's shoulder is still touching mine, and it may be my vulnerable position, but right now, I feel like I almost… don't _want _to lie to him.

_If I said yes, would you believe me? _I find myself scrawling instead. He frowns at my answer.

_Not really, no. _I take a deep breath and press my lips together.

_Then no, I'm not. _Now that I've said it, I feel like I need to hide from him. I clench up my hands, and bury my face in them. There's a growing lump in the back of my throat. Potter starts prodding at me again. I move my hand, just enough that I can see the paper on the table.

_It'll be alright, Draco. _It says. _Is there anything I can do? _I just shake my head. Potter picks up his quill and starts writing again.

_If you'd like to talk about it, we can meet after class. _

The offer is temping, but I'm not sure if it's one that I should even consider taking. I've been crying all day. There's virtually no chance of me being able to keep my composure during a conversation with someone who is supposed to be my enemy.

_Why do you even care? _I write beneath Potter's messy scrawl. He reaches up his hand and squeezes my shoulder. The pressure on the cuts there makes me flinch.

_Because you're human. _He writes. _There's clearly something very wrong, and I hate to see it. _

_Then close your eyes. _I scribble back, furiously. The lump is growing. I'm not actually sure if I can do this.

_It's your choice, Draco. _I can't help but wonder why he keeps using my first name. I stare at the page, but I don't actually write anything back.

Somehow, I make it to the end of class without falling apart. As I pack up, I notice that Potter is lingering behind, waiting to see whether I am going to take him up on his offer. I stop for a moment and look at him.

The other students begin to file out of the classroom, until we're the only ones left behind.

"I…" I open my mouth to talk to him and discover – to my horror – that I can't. The words catch in my throat. In one, split second, I realize that I'm about to start crying, with Potter here or not.

I can't stay here.

Without another word, I pick up my bag and book it out of the classroom.

Once locked in the safety of my own bed-curtains, I finally let it out. I know I'll have to face him tomorrow, before dinner, but by that point I'll have been able to compose myself and we can pretend that this never happened.

I stare at the blood oozing through my shirt sleeve.

I was stupid having even considered it.


	6. Chapter 6

After my last class on Wednesday afternoon, I head back down to my dormitory to get ready. I know I'm only meeting Potter to go over a charms lesson, but after everything that happened yesterday, I'm nervous, and for some reason, I feel like I need to look good for him. I think it's because Potter has paid more attention to me the last few weeks than anyone ever has in my life, and if someone is going to be seeing that much of me, I owe it to them to at least look presentable.

I drop my bag off next to my bed and grab some clothes from my drawer. I sneak into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. Once in the bathroom, I wash my face, comb my hair, and examine myself closely. My eyes are still a little red from last night, but there's nothing I can do in that respect. The anxiety surges.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. _You're okay, Draco. Really. Its only Potter. You're just studying. _

Even still, I pull out my razorblade and apply a few, quick slashes to my hips. This calms me down slightly, and whatever I can do to keep from losing it in front of Potter again is for the best.

I continue to stare at myself in front of the mirror. _You look disgusting. _I close my eyes and try to block it out, but my own image is stuck inside my mind and I can't make it go away. _How dare you go in public looking like this? You ought to be ashamed of yourself! _

Eyes on the floor, I turn the tap on to the sink and drop to my knees in front of the toilet. I shove my finger down my throat and pretend that my eyes are only watering due to the force of my retching. After 3 times I come to terms with the fact that there's nothing left in me to vomit. I'm empty. Empty is pure. Empty is beautiful. I flush, pull myself to my feet, and begin to brush my teeth. I spit, avoiding eye contact with myself, and sigh.

Even after all that, I still don't feel like I'm good enough for Potter. If I'm honest with myself, I don't feel good enough for anyone else either. Not myself, not my housemates, and especially not my father.

My back to the mirror, I strip out of my uniform and pull on my casual clothes; a pair of simple black trousers and a grey sweater that I like to pretend makes my eyes look nice. I glance at the clock on the wall. I need to leave now, or I'm going to be late meeting Potter.

I unlock the bathroom door and gather up my bag, grabbing my charms book from the dresser on the way out. I avoid eye contact with my housemates as I walk through the common room and out into the dungeon hallways.

As I head toward the library, I wrap my arms tightly around myself. I feel cold, but for some reason I feel that this coldness is unrelated to the temperature of the corridor. I'm nervous about meeting Potter after what happened in class yesterday. I'm worried he's going to ask me too many questions, and I'll be forced to reveal even more of myself to another person. I'm also worried that I'm going to embarrass myself with how little I know, and that it'll make him lose his patience with me.

I'm so busy worrying about the impending meeting that I very nearly walk straight past the library. I stop outside the gates and take a deep, steadying breath before I enter.

As I weave through the rows of tables, I keep my eyes on the floor and attempt to fight off the feeling that the other students are following me with their eyes.

I spot Potter at a table in a far, back corner, and I find myself taking a deep, steadying breath before approaching, shyly.

"Hello, Malfoy." Says Potter kindly. "How are you doing today?" I shrug, and take a seat across from him.

"I'm fine." I answer quietly. I feel myself blushing, remembering how much of myself that I revealed to him yesterday.

"Were all of your classes okay?" I nod, but don't answer. I pull out my textbook and my class notes, hoping that he'll get the hint and drop the small talk. He does.

"Alright…" Says Potter slowly. "I got a copy of yesterday's quiz from Flitwick. I thought that maybe going over it would be a good place for us to start. I nod.

"Okay."

"So, let's look at the first question. The one about Banned uses." I wrap my arms around myself. "I think I remember the answer to that one being in the beginning of the chapter. I think we should go through and answer them all correctly and then we can use it as a study guide." I reach into my bag and pull out a quill.

"Well," I say. "I remember you said that one about muggle stuff…" Potter smiles at me.

"Yeah, you're right." He goes to write it down. I flip through the chapter and try to find the other two, so that I'm not entirely useless.

"It says here that you can't use the charm on buildings, like private residences or stuff." I remember the tents from the World Cup and try to imagine what the world would be like if they could just infinitely expand the size of their homes. Potter nods and keeps writing.

"That would be ridiculously difficult to do anyhow." He adds. "Does it give a reason for it?" I keep reading and nod.

"Yeah, it says it's for public safety." Extension charms are not permanent, and I don't what to think about what would happen if I were in a house that suddenly shrunk down to a fraction of its size.

"What else?" Potter asks. I continue to scan the page.

"It's illegal to use in the transportation of any animal life." I finish. Potter nods, and I try not to think of what would happen to the poor creature were the charm to fail.

Potter completes the question and moves down the second one. The room spins, momentarily, and I grab on to the table for support.

"Everything alright, Malfoy?" In my head, I curse at him for being so perceptive.

"I'm fine." I say shortly. He stares at me for a moment. "What?" I snap. He sighs.

"Look, Draco…" he begins, his voice going soft. "I know you don't want to talk about it. I don't have the right to force you. I just…" he sighs again and I avoid eye contact. "It's obvious that what you're doing to yourself has had a serious effect on your health. To add to it, I don't think you're faring well mentally, and if I'm completely honest I'm worried about you." I glance up at him for just a moment and see that –surprisingly – his emerald green eyes are sincere. "I can understand why you wouldn't trust me," he continues. "Please just tell me that you are talking to _someone._" I'm not. That's kind of the point, isn't it? The whole object of this charade is to keep anyone from _knowing. _

I don't know how to answer Potter, and so I begin flipping through my textbook instead.

_2: The Undetectable Extension charm is more difficult than an ordinary one, not simply because of magical complexity but because of another factor. Explain this factor and why this factor is the reason why some wizards and witches are unable to perform the charm at all. _

I have no idea what the answer to this could possibly be, and so I start skimming desperately through the pages. Some wizards. I'll bet anything that _I _am one of those incompetent wizards. I'll fail my NEWTs because of this…

"Do you recall what section this response was in?" I ask Potter, offhandedly, refusing to look at him.

"You're avoiding my question. Please, Draco." I don't look up.

"I don't see how it's any of your business, Potter." The usual cold, or mean tone of my words is gone. In place, my answer is simply quiet and withdrawn. I need to choose where I'm placing my energy, and faking it to Potter isn't up there in my list of priorities today.

"Good or bad, you've been a part of my life for the last seven years. I will not be indifferent to the fact that something is killing you." I purse my lips.

"Fine." I answer shortly. "You want me to be honest, right?" I ask. He nods, earnestly. "No." I tell him. "I'm not talking to anyone. In fact, you're the only person in the entire universe who knows anything about this at all. That is – if you haven't gone ratting to your little friends. I plan keeping it that way, so if you haven't told I'd appreciate you keeping quiet." Potter is quiet for a long while.

"You mean to tell me there's not a single person in this castle that you're close to?" His tone is sad. I pull my sweater sleeves down around my wrists. I want to leave now.

"Nope." I say shortly. "Not a one." I feel him staring and so I snap my gaze up to look at him. "And I don't want to." I add, firmly.

"Do you really believe that?" I open my mouth to retort, but stop myself and close it up again. Do I? I sit back against my chair, leaning away from Potter, angry with him for doing this to me when we're supposed to be having a simple study session. I shake my head, for some reason entirely unwilling to lie to him.

"No." I mutter.

"Then give me a chance," he pleads, softly. I glare at him, suspiciously.

"Why?" I insist. "Because you feel sorry for me? Because you feel morally obligated to save me? Or is it just that now I'm interesting, you want in on the mystery?" Potter recoils, slightly, and I feel a faded sense of guilt for snapping at him.

"No." He answers. "But over the last few weeks, I've come to realize that the you I've thought I've known all these years is a front for an entirely different person. I don't want to leave here with you a stranger, having passed up a chance to know you. We could be friends, Draco." I acknowledge, sadly, an inner wish that I could trust him. That being said, I'm too afraid of what could happen if I opened up and he turned and told the entire world that I'm a freak.

Then again, I don't think he's told a single soul a word of what he _does _know.

If I say yes to Potter, this whole ordeal has the potential to end in only one of two ways. One, I make a friend, and there's actually a person who exists in the world who knows me in my entirety. Two, Potter betrays me, and I kill myself. I weigh this over in my mind.

I'm close enough to the second outcome on my own that were the occasion to arise, I'd really only be forwarding an inevitability anyway. I suppose, looking on it from that perspective…

That I really have got nothing to lose.

I look up from the table and stare Potter in the eye.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" Potter stares back.

"Have I let you down yet?" After a long silence, I answer him.

"Fine." I say softly. Potter smiles. "Now don't go thinking I'm just going to turn into an open book," I caution him. "I'm still very unsure about this." I say. "But…" I sigh. "I guess I won't fight you anymore either. When you go asking questions." Potter nods.

"That's all I can ask for."

"Right now though," I tell him. "I really do want to finish this study guide. I don't know if you've noticed but I'm entirely useless when it comes to charms…" _and everything else, _"and this could really help me."

Potter smiles and moves across the table to settle into the chair next to mine.

"The answer to number two is on page 74." He tells me. As I begin flipping through leaves and find myself taken aback at the intoxicating, soothing scent coming off of his clothing. I skip the page twice before I find it and have to physically restrain myself from moving closer to his person. I find the passage.

"_While every spell requires a certain level of practical ability, charmwork is unique in that it relies heavily on the witch or wizard's imaginative prowess. In order for any charm to work, the caster must be able to believe – with conviction – its possibility. The Undetectable Extension charm proves so tricky because it tests the user's cognitive realm. It is easy enough to imagine an object larger. It is far more difficult to conceptualize an object being larger on the inside, without any effect to the outer bounds, and to be able to visualize this strongly enough to make the spell effective. Some witches and wizards are never able to properly produce this charm, and it is the same factor which makes the Patronus charm one of the most advanced charms known to wizard-kind." _

I rephrase this paragraph and jot it down beneath the question. I don't admit to it outloud, but the passage has actually helped me understand what has been holding me back in this particular class. I've been so faded by my misery that I don't have the ability to imagine anything I'm doing to be real.

As I'm writing, I feel Potter's eyes on mine. I finish my sentence and set down my quill.

"One year and seven months." I tell him, quietly. He looks at me, bewildered. "That's how long I've been doing it."

Instead of answering me, he gives me a hug.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn't really my plan to sit down and talk to Potter about this right now. I'm not sure why I even shared that little bit of information with him in the first place. Really, what we need to be doing right now is studying.

And yet, I opened my mouth.

And I'm not stupid enough to assume that this conversation is going to end with my ridiculous little reveal.

Right now, I'm staring down at the practice quiz, acutely aware of Potter's smell on my clothes, left there by his hug. I'm frozen. It's been so long since anyone aside from Pansy has hugged me that I don't even know how to react anymore. I don't what to say, or what do, or how I'm even supposed to feel about it. Now that it's over, I feel guilty about having not hugged him back. Am I supposed to cry? Smile? What is he expecting from me?

"Why, Draco?" He asks me. I sigh, and close my eyes. Study. We need to study.

"I can't fail this class." I mumble. "We only have two questions done." Potter frowns.

"Alright," he answers. "We have two choices here. We can talk now, and meet up to finish this quiz later. Or, we can finish now and make time to talk in the future."

"Who says we have to talk?" I ask, quietly. "Maybe that's all I wanted to say."

"You're right." Potter says kindly. "I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry for pushing you." I just nod. "What does the third question say?"

"_Name 2 dangerous results that can arise from an improperly executed Undetectable Extension charm." _I read off.

'Why,' he says. _That _should be obvious, shouldn't it? I begin flipping through the textbook, but now that this door has been opened, I can't focus. I glance around the library, feeling hot, anxious, and observed.

Potter slides closer to me and starts helping me look through the pages. He stops me on the appropriate page and reads.

_A miscasting of this charm can lead to a few dangerous effects. Too light a casting could lead to the sudden shrinkage of the area, damaging any objects inside or harming any life inhabiting the affected space. An overcasting of the spell can lead to a near infinite, irreversible expansion, creating a space comparable to a vacuum. In such a case, all objects – or people – placed inside the affected area could possibly disappear forever._

Potter's voice is soothing, and I take a deep breath before I scrawl the answer out across the paper.

"Your hand is shaking," Potter observes, softly. I just shrug.

"It happens." I answer, quietly. I'm having a hard time processing the course material. I'm too busy thinking about Potter's question; 'Why'. Because I have to, that's why. Because a Malfoy is supposed to be beautiful, perfect. I am anything but beautiful and this is a good way to keep up with social expectation. Now, if only I could bring myself to say it out loud and actually tell Potter that.

"You alright?" Potter asks me cautiously. I have to think about that for a moment. Am I okay? What does he mean by the question? Does he mean am I okay right now or am I okay in general? Does that change my answer?

"I don't know." I find myself saying out loud.

"Well," he suggests, "why don't we take a break? We can start back up again when you're feeling a little better." He looks at his watch. "It's about dinner time. Are you hungry?" I shoot him a look. He frowns at me.

"You've got to eat something, Malfoy, and actually keep it down." I wrap my arms around myself. This conversation isn't making me feel any better. I don't know how to explain to Potter that the simple motions of dinner time are too exhausting for me to deal with.

"Trust me," I mutter. "Eating is pretty much as far from a 'break' as you can get for me."

"Well what would you like to do?" He asks me. I'm not sure how to answer this one. Honestly, I kind of want to talk about this. I've never had the option before.

"Is there anywhere else we can go?" I find myself asking. "Where there aren't so many people?" I don't know what I'm going to do, but if I do talk about this, or if for some reason I start freaking out again, I don't want all these people around.

Potter smiles at me and I shrink away, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"I have an idea. Come on." Potter stands and reaches his hand out to me. Cautiously, I reach out and grab his hand. Potter pulls me to my feet and I pull my hand away, blushing. I gather up my stuff and try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and the nagging curiosity about where we're going to go.

I hang my bag across my shoulder, wincing at the usual sting, and as I follow Potter out of the library, I promise to myself that with him, I will be exactly me – take it or leave it. Potter has provided me with the first chance I have ever had to step outside of Malfoy mode, and stop pretending to be okay.

I follow Potter up flight after flight of stairs. Just as I'm wondering whether we will ever reach our destination, he stops in front of stretch of bare wall. As I stand in wonder, Potter walks back and forth across his stretch his wall – eyes closed – murmuring to himself. Suddenly, a door appears out of nowhere.

"Come on," Potter says, again reaching his hand out toward mine. Again, I grab it, and follow him through the door, having no idea what to expect.

As I enter through the room, I am greeted by a small, comfortable looking study. With two squishy armchairs, a sofa, and coffee table set in front of a warm, roaring fireplace. Sitting on the table is a plate sandwiches, cut into little triangles. I really hope he doesn't expect me to eat those.

"Sit down." Potter tells me. I do, but I'm not sure why. I stay quiet for a long time, staring at my feet. "Is this okay?" He asks me. I just nod. He watches me for a moment. "I don't know you, Draco." He tells me gently.

"No one does," I mumble.

"Well in this room, I want you to be honest, okay? No more…"

"Pretending?" I finish.

"Right." He says, nodding, seeming awkward. "Here, I want you to be comfortable as yourself. I know it'll be hard for you trust me, given our past, but I'd like for us to get to know each other." I hate to admit it, but the idea of having a finite space where I am able to just _be _sounds…. Well, amazing. "We don't even have to talk about your issue. We can come in here just to study. Or chat. So whenever we're together, you don't need to worry about how anyone else thinks of you." I finally take my eyes off the floor.

"And it stays here?" I ask. "Nothing leaves this room?" Potter smiles at me encouragingly.

"Never." He tells me. "Not until you're ready." I stare him down.

"Potter, I'm serious. I don't think you understand my implications."

"Then explain them to me." I take a deep breath. When I speak, my voice shakes, slightly.

"If I trust you, and you betray that trust…" I don't finish. I can't finish. Finishing would mean admitting, out loud, to another human being, that I am truly one push from the edge. I swallow, hard, and break eye contact with Potter.

"What is it, Draco? You can tell me." I look back up at him.

"I wouldn't… be able to… to handle it." I stammer out. "I wouldn't make it." I'm quiet for a moment. Potter says nothing, seeming to sense that I haven't finished. "You'd be killing me." I whisper. Potter watches me seriously.

"Okay." He answers. He looks at me intently. "I understand." He shakes his head. "And I won't let you down. I promise." I watch him for a moment and then nod, slowly.

"Okay." I croak out. I'm not sure whether I believe him, but the truth is irrelevant anyway. He knows now. Any outcome is on his head.

"Are you alright?" He asks me. _Honesty, Draco. Honesty here._

"No." I tell him shortly. "I'm not."

"Do you feel like talking about it or would you just like to relax?" This is my chance. I should take it.

"I… I want to talk." I tell him. "If that's okay. I just… I never have." Potter picks up a sandwich and tries to hand it to me. I shy away from it.

"We can talk, Draco." He tell me. "But I need you to eat this." My anxiety surges.

"I can't." I whisper, feeling my eyes well up. I shake my head. "Potter, I can't."

"Yes you can," he says patiently. "And it's Harry. We're friends now." I wipe at my eyes. If I cry now, I will never forgive myself. I keep shaking my head.

"I can't." He doesn't stop trying to hand me the sandwich.

"Why not?" He asks gently.

"You're staring at me…" I whisper. For some reason, Harry smiles, and for a brief moment I think that he's laughing at me. Then, he takes the same sandwich, and takes a bite from it.

"We're just having a snack together, Draco." He tells me. "That's all." I stare. "Please. I hate being the only one eating. It makes me feel strange."

"I – o-okay." I say timidly. I grab a new sandwich from the plate and take the smallest bite that I can manage.

"When you finish that, we can talk." He tells me. He pulls a book from his bag and starts leafing through it as he chews. He's making a noticeable effort not to look at me, and I'm incredibly grateful for this. In fact, I even eat two. "So," he says when I've finished. "What did you want to talk about?"

Now that I've been confronted with the opportunity, I have absolutely no idea whatsoever how to proceed. The honest answer to his question is, well, _everything_. Of course, that's much too big to start with.

"I-I don't know how to start…" I mumble. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at my knees. I feel my hair fall forward in front of my eyes. I'm embarrassed and ashamed.

"Well," Harry says patiently. "Can I ask you some questions then? Is that alright?" I nod, without saying anything. "Aright." He tells me warmly. "You say it's been a little over a year and a half, right?" I nod again.

"Yes." I answer quietly.

"Do you remember the first time that you did it?" I nod again, and to my humiliation a lump begins to form in my throat. "Can you tell me about it?" I'm quiet for a moment after he asks me this. This isn't a story I've ever told to anyone. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure I've ever even written it down.

"I." I start to speak, but my voice breaks and I stop. I swallow, and try to start up again. "It started with my Quidditch mates," I finally manage to get out. "They were teasing me." This sounds pathetic and I wince.

"Why were they teasing you, Draco?" Harry asks me softly. I shrug and wipe a little bit of moisture from my eyes. "Because I'd never win." I answer. "They decided the reason was that I wasn't built enough like a Seeker. They'd harass me during practice, after matches. Sometimes jokingly, sometimes angrily. For months." I look up at Potter to gauge his reaction and see him looking intently at me with a sympathetic expression on his face. "I-I'm a Malfoy," I stammer. "I have expectations. Part of that is keeping in shape and not losing presentation."

"Draco, you're not fat. At all." I bite down on my lip in fear that it will start to tremble.

"It's more than that though!" I cry out. "I couldn't take it anymore! At first I thought it was just Blaise being an arse, but… but I could never win anything. A-and…" I take a deep breath. "I started to feel like I didn't deserve the food to begin with." I mumble. "I still don't, really."

"What happened that first time, Draco?" I sniff and wipe a tear from my cheek before I answer him.

"I'd just lost a match against you." I tell him, softly. "The entire team joined together and started berating me for letting myself get out shape, telling me that just because I'm a Malfoy doesn't mean I get to call myself an athlete. Blaise shoved me against a locker and called me useless." I stop for a minute and close my eyes. "I never fought him back." I tell him.

"Why?" Harry asks me, gently. I look up at him.

"We're honest here, right?" I ask, hesitantly. Harry smiles warmly at me and nods. Briefly, I feel the sensation of my stomach making a beeline for my feet.

"It was too much, Harry." I whispered. "I couldn't take it. I couldn't fight him. I couldn't even argue with him… I was forcing back tears." I lift my gaze and meet Harry's bright green eyes, which seem to be filled with concern. I'm quiet for a moment, remembering just exactly how broken I felt at that moment. The mantra going through my head.

_Stupid, fat, ugly, useless, fat, failure. _

"And then what happened," Harry asks me. Despite my best efforts to stop it, the tears break though. For a moment, I try wiping them away. A moment later, I give up, reminding myself that here, I will refuse to keep pretending.

"I ran." I whisper. "As soon as I could get away from them, I ran. Somehow I ended up in the second floor bathroom and… I'm not even sure what I was thinking. I just remember feeling like it was life or death if I didn't get it out of me. I was so… _disgusted _with myself."

"Why, Draco?" Harry asks calmly. I swallow back sob.

"Because, I _am _disgusting." I tell him, sincerely. "I didn't deserve it." Disgust and rage are beginning to creep into my voice. "I didn't deserve any of it! How dare I stand there and fucking act like I belong!" I'm crying hard now. I'm surprised. With all the ways I imagined how this conversation might go, I never thought I'd cry. I take a moment to compose myself before I keep going. Harry moves over to sit beside me, and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"So I did it," I continue, shakily. "I locked myself in a stall, and slammed the door as hard as I could. I tried casting a vomiting spell, but I'm so fucking useless with charm work all it did was make me retch. So… I shoved my fingers down my throat." I lean forward on the couch and bury my face in my knees. My entire body is trembling with the admission. Harry rubs my back and I try as hard as I can not to think about that fact that I'm crying – right now – in front of another human being. Especially _this _human being.

"Draco," I hear Harry tell me softly from beyond the darkness. "None of that is true. You're not fat, you're not worthless, and you're not stupid." All Harry's words succeed in doing is making me cry even harder. My entire life – over the entire history of my existence – not a single person has ever comforted me. Not once. "Shh…" Harry croons, gently. "It's alright. You're going to be okay, Draco." I shake my head into my knees, feeling a little bit like I'm on the verge of a panic attack.

"I don't feel okay." I stammer. "I'm not okay."

I can imagine how pathetic I must seem to Harry right now, stumbling and crying over a stupid little "eating disorder." What he doesn't understand is that there is a hell of a lot more to it than just some teasing by my Quidditch mates. To add to that, he doesn't even _know _about my other issues.

"I know you're not okay." Harry tells me calmly. "But that doesn't mean you can't be."

"It doesn't feel like it." I whisper. I start to feel nauseous. Harry keeps rubbing my back.

"I'm glad you decided to talk to me, Draco." He tells me softly. "I was really worried about you." I try to swallow back my tears.

"I'm sorry." I mumble.

"Why are you sorry?" I sit up, and using my palms, I try to wipe my face dry.

"For being so pathetic," I mumble thickly. My heart stops when I moment later Harry reaches out his hand and turns my face to look at him.

"Don't." He answers me, firmly. "Just, don't." I stop breathing for a moment. "You have an eating disorder. That is very serious. You are suffering, badly, from depression." I stare. "You are not pathetic. I promise."

"I don't know what to do." I whisper, still feeling hysterical. "Harry, I'm scared." My companion reaches forward and pulls me, tightly, into a hug.

This time, I know what do. I wrap my arms around Harry's – surprisingly strong – body, and hold on to him for dear life.

tic


End file.
